COMMENT ON MY HARRY POTTER FANFICTION

Drumstrang Potter

Summary: What if Harry went to Drumstrang instead of Hogwarts?

CHAPTER ONE

Harry Potter was a strange kid; he never talked to other people, often murmuring one word answers to any questions they asked; he always played by himself and most important of all, he read.

When Harry was about five years old, he was walking down one of the back roads – he walked a lot, by himself – he saw a sign on a white rickety building: British Public Library. He was a curious boy, so he went in, thinking: “What’s this? A library?”

Inside the well lit three-room library were rows and rows of shelves filled with books of all sorts. To the corner, on a scratched wooden desk that looked as if it would fall apart any second, there was an old woman with sharp electric blue eyes and a small smile on her face.

“Hello there, deary,” She called out, smiling. “What are you lookin’ for today?” She had a strange accent; she spoke as if she had all day and added extra vowels as well. She was what Vernon would call ‘One of those country folk.’

Harry smiled back, a bit unsurely before croaking out, “What is this place?” In a half awed voice.

“You’ve never been here before?” The old woman asked, looking astonished. “Why, this is the library. Here we have all sorts of books, I’m sure you will love it!”

“Books?”

“Yes, books. Here, look at this.” She reached for a shelf and pulled out a thin looking book. On the front was the title: Treasure Island.

“Can I read this?” Harry asked, his eyes showing his lack of confidence and uncertainity.

“Why of course. There’s an armchair over there, very comfortable. Why don’t you sit on back, and I’ll get you a cup of milk from the staff room, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Harry said, happily. He took the book from the old woman’s hands and turned around. Sure enough, over in the corner was a blue armchair, small, about his height, and torn in various places – the cotton was coming out. But Harry didn’t mind the contrast from the neat Dursleys Home. In fact he loved this place at once; the library had a sense of comfort.

Everyday, after school – he was in grade one – he would come to the library and read. The librarian, the old country woman who he found was from Nebraska, U.S.A, was very nice and often gave him treats like chocolates, cups of tea in cold winter days, popsicles on sunny days, stuff like that.

The Dursleys didn’t mind, they were glad to have him out of the house. “As long as you come back clean and don’t do anything. . . freakish, its okay.” Petunia had said, with a frown and a wistful look at Dudley (who was shoveling in ice cream in his mouth by the truck loads). No doubt Petunia was thinking that it would be nice if Dudley showed the same enthusiasm for books.

A few weeks later from the first time Harry visited the library, Mrs. Snamansi, the librarian, offered him a library card.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, as usual not very talkative. Mrs. Snamansi more than made up for it however, she loved to hear her own voice.

“A library card honey. With this little item, you can check out books and take them home to read. You’ll have to bring them back of course, we can’t have any misplaced books.”

“Really?” Harry asked with wide eyes.

“Yup, for sure. Since you come here everyday, you should get one. I know you love to read so you can take books home and read them as well.”

“But can I keep coming here?” Harry asked.

“You bet.” She said with a light and easy grin. “So you want a library card?”

“Yes, please.”

“You’ll have to get your parents to fill out this form.” She said handing him a pink colored slip of paper. “Then you can have a library card.”

Harry smiled, he felt a burst of happiness inside him. . . . like being accepted. He was an outcast to the other kids mainly because he didn’t know how to communicate and would often freeze up, and because he had really bad clothes. There was Dudley who made fun of him and several kids would join Dudley as well.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, honey. Now what book do you want to read today?’ She asked.

Harry shrugged, ever the man of words. ‘You decide?’

‘Okay,’ she said and walked over to the back room. ‘This is an old one, but I’m sure you’ll love it.’

The title read: Merlin.

And that’s how Harry came to learn about magic, albeit the fantasy/muggle imagination kind. But this was as good an introduction as any.

Harry came to the library every day, and every day he would borrow one new book. He read that book all the time, from Recess in school, to when he was walking home, even in class. The teachers couldn’t get him off the books and they weren’t sure they wanted to as well.

In the mornings he would wake at about six a.m, do some chores like make a big breakfast for Vernon and Petunia, and Dudley and himself, sweep the kitchen, and vacuum up the living room. Then he would read the books.

Everyone found this obsession a bit odd; “Harry, why don’t you play outside?’ Vernon said one day, strangely concerned.

“I don’t want to, reading is more fun.’ Harry said as he always said when people would ask him this question.

And so he read. He read about a book a day, every day from when he was five years old to when he was about eleve. . . When he got his Hogwarts letter.

Vernon and Petunia were eating breakfast, and Dudley was shoveling his into his mouth like the food would go away any second. “Get the mail, Harry.” Vernon said.

“Sure,” Harry muttered, his nose in a book. This time the book said: Cuju by Stephen King.

He absently went out the door – he was always careful to do the chores for the Dursleys, lest they would take away his books. He picked up all the letters, and coming back in, he absentmindedly handed them to Vernon.

Vernon shuffled through, “Bills… bills… Oh, look Petunia, here’s a letter from Marge… Bills…” Then he gasped. Dudley looked up at once in alarm. So did Petunia.

Harry had no curiousity in such mudane matters. He liked his books better.

“Petunia,” Vernon said gulping. “It’s here.”

“What’s here-?” Petunia gasped when she saw what Vernon was holding. She snatched the letter from his grasp and wrung it in her hands, twisting it almost. “Oh no, oh no.”

“Let’s, let’s. . .” Vernon shrugged. “Let’s go upstairs and talk about it.”

“What is it?” Dudley asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, dear. Just a letter from the electrical company.” Petunia lied.

”Yeah, those bastards are increasing the prices again.”

Dudley shrugged. Harry heard nothing, away in a world of imagination.

And so the Hogwarts letter was missed. There would be a twenty-four hour gap before the next letter came, enough time for the headmaster of Drumstrang to come and personally deliver the acceptance speech to Drumstrang school of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

The headmaster of course was Severus Snape.

CHAPTER TWO – HOW SNAPE BECAME THE HEADMASTER OF DRUMSTRANG

The court room was bright, well lit. In the front, behind a podium on center stage stood Bartimus Croutch, Minister of Magic. Around him, seated comfortably were the Wizengamot, and the head of the aurors and other people in the ministry who were also quite powerful. They were the judges. The war had been finished – recently over. The death eaters threat was almost gone.

Voldemort was dead thanks to Harry Potter. Now the ministry just had to clean up and all in all they felt pretty good about themselves.

Dumbledore was seated beside the head of aurors, Mad Eye Moody. His blue eyes were cold, calculating as they examined the Minister of Magic. Mad Eye beside him had his eyeball whirling this way and that, looking at everyone in suspicion. “Once the trials are over, I’m going to retire from this job.” He said.

“Oh?” Dumbledore asked. “Why is that?”

“Too stressful, it’s making me paranoid.”

“You were always paranoid, my friend.”

“Well thank you very much,” Mad Eye said with a grin. “Who’s next on the list?”

“Igor Kakaroff. You have heard of him, I presume?”

Mad Eye’s scarred face darkened with rage, “The coward. . . I know him. He put an Avada Kedavra in the back of one of my good men. Said he was a civilian. Pah!”

“Perhaps we should let him go free,” Dumbledore mused.

“What?” Moody roared with rage. Around him people turned, and he sat back down, a flush on his face. “You can’t do that, Albus. He is a death eater.”

Dumbledore was as calm as ever. “We’ll see what he has to offer,” He said.

Mad Eye was about to say something but he was cut off by the Minister on the podium.

“Bring in Prisoner number: 19489, Name: Igor Kakaroff.” The minister said.

Two hard faced aurors with death on their faces dragged in a pathetic looking man in chains. Kakaroff was a pale sickly looking man, dressed in prison rags, and obvioiusly underfed. He was thrown into an iron seat and made to sit up straight.

“Igor Kakaroff, you are charged with treason, conspiring against the Ministry by allying yourself with the dark lord and multiple counts of gang murder and torture. How do you plead?”

“Innocent,” He croaked out. “I am innocent godamit! It wasn’t my fault-!”

“Yes, yes we have heard this before. The evidence is before you. Aurors, his hand please.”

The auror on Igor’s left lifted up Igor’s left hand and rolled down the sleeve. There, on his wrist was the pulsating dark mark, grey when it was once black. All could see that the mark was fading away.

“If you can supply us with information that will lead to the capture of your fellow conspirators, then your sentence will be reduced and you might-“ He sneered “-might go free. Do you have any helpful information for us today, Kakaroff?”

“Yes! I know the death eaters, Snape is one of them and-“

Dumbledore rose from his seat, a thunderous expression on his face that compelled the whispers to die away. “Severus Snape was proven innocent in a proper Wizengamot trial.”

“That’s right,” The minister said with a sour expression, just like Moody’s, “He was. Any others?”

Kakaroff gulped. “Bellatrix?”

”Captured.”

He licked his dry lips and hesitated. . .

“Do you know of any other death eaters?” The minister asked.

“Yes but they are all in prison, I think.” He helplessly replied.

“Very well then. The kiss!”

“Wait, I have someone. Agustus Rockwood.” Kakaroff shouted. “Minister of the interior defence of-“

“Agustus? Agustus Rockwood?” The minister asked, a pale expression on his face. “Not the Agustus Rockwood who-“

The whispers started to increase in fervour until it was broken by Agustus Rockwood himself standing up. He was a tall, black eyed, brown haired man who always had an angry expression on his face. “That’s a lie! That’s a dirty lie!”

“Aurors,” The minister said pointing, but four aurors in red robes were already pushing in the crowd, eager to get yet another death eater.

Rockwood had an alarmed expression on his face. He started to run, pushing through the crowd. The aurors caught up with him, and dragged him in Center Stage in front of everyone again.

Dumbledore looked at him with sad eyes, “What a waste. . . He took the mark as well?”

“Aurors, lift up his left arm please.” The minister commanded.

The aurors complied. The crowd gasped.

On his left arm was a throbbing dark mark, out in the open and ready to commit evil. “Chain him up and keep him in a holding cell.”

Rockwood was dragged out of the auditorium. “Well, then, Kakaroff,” The minister snarled. “You had something useful for us so your life sentence will be reduced to a five year-“

Dumbledore stood up, “I vote Kakaroff goes free. He was obviously scared into joining Voldemort. He will be an asset to society if he can go free and reform his ill ways.”

The crowd gasped dramatically. The minister was not looking happy. “All those who vote he goes free?” At once three quarters of the crowd raised their hands. Dumbledore’s influence was more palpable than ever.

“Fine, Igor Kakaroff, you are hereby acquitted of all charges.” He grumbled.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. . .” Igor said looking at Dumbledore with worship in his eyes.

And that was how Igor Kakaroff went free.

A while later, Igor and Dumbledore met in a coffee shop where Dumbledore set him up for a job as the headmaster of the headmaster-less magical school of Drumstrang. Albus Dumbledore smiled good naturedly at the thanks Igor insisted on giving; he had yet another follower ready to do anything for him.

Two months later, when the first term was just starting, Igor fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Not many people attended his funeral, Snape and Dumbledore were the exception. Kakaroff had no relatives and his death was a complete freak accident. . . or so people thought. Dumbledore had his suspicions when Snape handed in his resignation form and took Kakaroff’s place. Malfoy had no doubt pulled some strings; he was on the school board of both schools.

Drumstrang quickly transformed to an authotarian school where discipline held the highest regard. The students had a fierce training schedule: they would practice their magical skills like duelling, dark arts, potions, transfigurations, charms and fencing all day long and get as little as 5 hours of sleep.

In a few years Drumstrang was known as the best school Europe’s magical civilization had to offer, topping Hogwarts. Their students were the best trained, most disciplined, and much more cunning and ruthless, taking high places in office and the ministry. . . all thanks to Severus Snape, a new player in the game Dumbledore was the master of. Behind Severus’s kind and helpful face was a ruthless, ambitious man who never forgot the wrongs done to him, and would stop at nothing to fulfill his ambitions.

When Harry would accept Mister Snape’s kind offer to the school of Drumstrang, he would not know that he had just made the biggest mistake in his life.

NEXT CHAPTER: THE INVITATION TO DRUMSTRANG, BEST SCHOOL OF MAGIC IN EUROPE

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CHAPTER THREE – THE INVITATION

Severus Snape was a cunning man; he hid his true personality behind a kindly smile, the one Dumbledore always wore. He dressed sharply, and washed often. He was well read, had good taste, and knew people.

He could see through people thanks to Dumbledore’s legilimency and occlumency training, and he could guess their motives, ambitions and personality. His guess more often than not hit the right mark. Right now he was driving along at ninety kilometres an hour on Westlake 401, heading south, to Number Four Privet Drive. . . In a red Ferrari.

He had discussed his plan with Lucius Malfoy a few days ago; they both knew the dark lord would come back, and they both wanted to live in his next reign. This was the Slytherin approach, they would hold on to Potter until the dark lord had returned, and when he did they would present him with this wonderful gift. It was a superb plan, if Severus could humbly say so, one of his better plans.

The Ferrari was for added effect, Lucius’s idea. He wore a muggle suit, a business suit they called it, just had a hair cut at one of the more expensive barber shops in London, and looked pristine and fresh. He looked rich, like a C.E.O of a big company, and most of all he looked respectable. When he would walk down the street, people parted at once. He had that air around him.

The Ferrari blazed down the highway at blinding speed. In a few minutes at most he pulled up to Number Four Privet Drive, where all the houses looked the same. He got out of his car, left the key and engine roaring. From the corner of his eye he noticed a woman, skeleton thin in the window, staring at him.

He went over to the door and knocked, once, twice, thrice. The Ferrari was parked carelessly on the driveway and went over the clean cut green lawn making tire marks.

Petunia opened the door, “Can we help you?”

Snape flashed a grin, using a bit of his legilimency to subtly influence Petunia and make her like him a bit more. “Hello, is this the house that Harry Potter lives in?”

“Y-yes.” Petunia said helpfully. “Please come in.”

Legilimency was the best thing that ever happened to him, Snape decided. “Well, thank you very much. Is your husband home?”

“Yes, he was just going to leave for work. Would you like some coffee?”

“Hey, mom, who’s this?”

Petunia turned to her son, “Go to school dear. I need to talk business with this man right here.”

Snape flashed a triumphant grin, his legilimency was subtly influencing Petunia to say the things he wanted her to say. “Can you get Vernon in the living room? We need to discuss something very important.”

Dudley gave Snape a suspicious look, and left for school, hauling his small black backpack over his shoulder. Harry Potter stayed still, nose in book.

”Harry, I need to talk to you as well.” Snape said, “Please follow me, you two.”

Vernon walked down the stairs, stopped short when he caught sight of Snape. “The hell are you doing here?”

“My name is Severus Snape, headmaster of Drumstrang School of magic.” Snape said confidently, shaking Vernon’s hand. Vernon was stunned, too astonished to speak.

“You-you-you…” Was all he could say.

“Please, all of you come to the living room.”

They were seated, all staring at Snape. “No doubt you have received a letter from Hogwarts-“

“He won’t be going!” Vernon shouted angrily. “I will not have this here, not in my house.”

“I assure you, Mr. Dursley, I feel quite the same way. For Mr. Potter to go to Hogwarts would be disasterous. Drumstrang would be a far better choice.”

“You are… another school?”

“Yes, I am the headmaster. My school is the best in all of Europe – it’s in an undisclosed location, somewhere up North.” Snape said vaguely. “Our school will help teach young Harry discipline, and will give him a good education in all areas, not just magic. For example, business, science, mathematics. . . need I go on?”

“No. No. You need to get the hell away from my house.” Vernon said.

”Wait, Vernon. Let’s hear him out.” Petunia said hesitantly. “You teach normal things?”

“Yes, of course. Hogwarts however will give him a loose sense of morals, and I think too much training in the evil arts of magic. Hogwarts won’t instill a sense of restraint and-“

“No, he won’t be going to any school, you hear me?”

“Mr. Vernon. Harry Potter is a wizard. He will go to a magical school, our government makes sure of it. There won’t be any ‘No’s’ around here. You can choose Hogwarts or you can choose my school, which I assure you is a much better choice.” Snape said. He looked at Vernon directly in the eye and subtly influenced him with his legilimency.
He noticed something odd about Harry, he was still reading his book, not curious in the slightest that they were talking about him.

“Fine.” Vernon grumbled.

“You need to sign a form. His parents originally wanted him to go to Hogwarts but since you are the guardians of Mr. Potter, you can waive that.” He handed Vernon and Petunia a white sheet of paper . . . a contract of sorts.

“When. . .” Vernon gulped, “When is he going?”

“I can take him with me right now if you like? He can come back this summer.”

“That would be excellent,” Vernon said and reluctantly took the plastic pen Snape offered and signed the form.

“Wonderful, Mr. Dursley. Come here Harry.” Snape said, barely repressing his disgust.

Harry looked up from his book. “This Drumstrang school, you say it is the best school in Europe?”

“Yes, of course. We have the standings to prove it as well, they can be made available at our head office, in Drumstrang.”

“And magic, it’s real?”

“Would you like me to show you?”

Harry flicked a glance at Vernon and Petunia’s frightened faces. “No I take your word for it.” Then he put his book down. “Does your school have a library?”

“The biggest,” Snape said proudly. “You like to read, do you?”

Harry nodded.

“Then we are going to be good friends. Come, let’s get your school supplies. Then we will go to Drumstrang and you can pick your own room for the summer. Our term starts at the first of September.” Snape grabbed Harry’s shoulder and without waiting for a response, he dragged Harry to the Ferrari parked outside.

On the way to the ‘Leaky Cauldron’ Harry said nothing. Snape observed him carefully out of the corner of his eye, and when he made eye contact and tried to probe his mind, he saw something strange . . .

Most human brain waves travel in a reasonable logical pattern. Harry’s however didn’t. Thoughts sprung up from all over the place, thoughts from different stories he had read. Sometimes Harry would follow four or five thought patterns at once and that made Snape’s task of reading Harry’s mind extremely difficult.

He got the gist however: Harry didn’t care about magic, at all. Just about reading his books.

‘A quiet goody-goody prisoner, how amusing.’ Snape said.

NEXT CHAPTER: CHAPTER FOUR - SHOPPING